I went out last night for a friend's birthday party in the Bronx and was forced to have fun and drink too much. Here is what happened when started the journey home around 3am:
- I fall asleep very briefly on the bench waiting for the train.
- I stumble onto the train and proceed to fall asleep again.
- I wake up as the train is approaching 181st because the train is stopping/a homeless man is yelling something at me. I have no idea what he's saying, but am alarmed to be at 181st because I am used to travelling north and think that I have missed my stop. I hate myself.
- I bolt off the train and stumble toward the elevator, thinking I'll just take a cab home because I saved so much money by being given a thousand free drinks.
- I realize that I was travelling in the correct direction and should have stayed on the train and that it's 3:30 and that I hate myself more.
- I get in the elevator with the same homeless man who proceeds to mumble at me and hound me for change. Even if I had some, I don't know if I could be coordinated enough to look for it.
- I leave the station and start walking north on Amsterdam. I have no fucking clue where I am or how to get to Broadway, which is where I assume I'll find a cab or another subway station. I also don't realize that the numbers are getting larger when they should be getting smaller. I consider taking a standing catnap against a wall.
- I finally get a gypsy cab to pick me up (after turning down a large white van that offered me a ride) and start insisting that he's going the wrong way, which he isn't.
- I get home! I wash my face and fall into bed! I also make sure my alarm is set because I am a responsible adult and have to be up in 3.5 hours.
- I wake up 10 minutes before I should be leaving the apartment.
- I throw on the first outfit that hits my hand when I reach for my floor and make it to work only 15 minutes late.
- At 11:50am, my body is just now considering not being drunk anymore. So far it hasn't come to a conclusion. Except that it hates me.
